


From Eden

by cherrywinecrowley



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Falling in Love throughout time, Love, Mainly Crowley’s POV, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-09 21:22:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19894543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrywinecrowley/pseuds/cherrywinecrowley
Summary: Their story begins with a garden and ends with a garden.Crowley and Aziraphale’s relationship throughout the years.





	From Eden

Existence is complex. It can be murky like blueish-black uncharted waters and that can be terrifying to some. To others it’s like an open book, filled with white blank pages that offer new and exciting things everyday. And it’s been around for thousands and thousands of years and will continue for thousands and thousands more. It began with Creation, and for Crowley, it came a short time before.

Crowley remembers his time as an angel faintly, almost as if it were all a dream. He can recall what his silken robes and golden tassels looked like and the feeling of being light as a feather. He doesn’t remember who asked him to take part in forming the beginning of all things but he has memories of stepping off from the dewy-like fog of Heaven and falling deep into the dark skies of the earth. With a flick of the wrist he created stars, and after the stars he added comets, and soon after the night sky was teeming with light he drifted farther and farther into his work. Nebulas and galaxies and all sorts of colors gave depth to the universe. All because of one angel. 

An angel that had striking copper hair and fair eyes, an angel that seemed to prefer his own section of the banks of Heaven compared to the more lively ones. A quiet one, a creative soul that was neither black or white but rather a cloud-like grey. It’s this personality that later condemns him to his fate. It’s this centrist core, this inquisitive nature that chips away at the surface beneath him. The company he’s chosen and the disposition he possesses is enough to rid him of his status and he begins a new plane of existence, one that is bathed in sulfur and blood and the most unbearable heat one could ever withstand. 

Crowley is surrounded by other angels after the fall. Only one or two remind him of himself. Battered and confused, looking up at the sky with longing and hurt. For them, their crime was asking questions. And their punishment was the same as the ones who now blackened the earth with their malevolence. They were cast out and condemned and forced to inhabit the world underneath all living things. 

Their feathers turned black.

Crowley emerges not too long after the fall into the garden of Eden. Slithering through the soft green grass, he makes his way to a human and hisses pleasantly into her ear. His words are like honey and they tempt her towards forbidden fruit that is placed right in her reach. He convinces her to break one very important rule and in turn, break God’s trust. Afterwards, he watches as Adam and Eve are forced to leave everything that they have ever known and he feels a twinge at recognizing a situation that is all too similar with his own. 

There is an angel perched on top of the cobblestone gates and the serpent makes his way over to him. He looks different than the angels he knew before. His soft blue eyes and white curls remind him of ocean waters and salty sea foam. This isn’t the first time the demon has noticed him as he’s spent many days in the garden, curled up and watching rather than actively plotting. Crowley longs to know him. He snakes his way up over the the wall and presents himself to the angel. And then they talk. 

He learns his name, Aziraphale. It’s a long name and it lingers. Crowley likes the taste it leaves in his mouth. 

They watch as the two humans embark on their journey outside of the garden. In such a short conversation Aziraphale uses many different voice inflections and facial expressions and Crowley wonders how many more he has. He points out that the angel no longer has his flaming sword and inquires about its whereabouts. Aziraphale stumbles over his words and finally admits that he’s given it away to Adam and Eve, who he feels need it far more than him. Something about this selfless act stirs something in Crowley. Here was an angel, a devout believer and ambassador of God, giving away something undeniably precious to him because he cared for two others who had never done anything for him. It says a lot about someone’s character when they help those who cannot help themselves. And he worries and frets over if it’s the right decision and Crowley knows in his heart that it is. 

Crowley feels the first ever raindrops fall onto his cold skin. It’s enough to make him visibly shiver. Without saying a word, the angel offers his wing to shelter him from the weather. Crowley moves towards him tentatively. It’s the first act of kindness he’s ever received, and he holds onto the moment as long as he can as he inches closer. The two watch the thunder roll across the horizon and the rain keeps falling. 

After this meeting they don’t see each other for quite awhile. Hell beckons to him and the angel has work to do, blessings and promoting God’s will across the earth. The angel and demon cross paths again only when they both come to witness the building of Noah’s ark. They stand together and watch as animals and people are loaded into the giant boat and others are left behind only to gaze upon it. Unaware of what’s in store.

It sickens Crowley to see children running around chasing goats, none the wiser of what’s to come. It seems like a cruel and unusual punishment to damn them for the sins of their fathers. Aziraphale does his best to hide behind his faith but he falters and Crowley isn’t blind. Instead they watch as living things continue to be corralled into the ark. And it rains for second time that Crowley can remember. 

They meet again in Golgotha years and years later. Crowley doesn’t like to relive this memory often, but when he does he can see everything like it had happened yesterday. Dirt and sand are caked onto his hands and face and he’s shrouded in a black cloak. He stands next to the angel and watches a man, far too young to die, suffer and cry out until he has no more voice left.

Rome follows not too long after that. Crowley’s in a sour mood, a temptation with Caligula has gone terribly wrong and he feels the urge to drink. He’s ignoring everyone and everything. It’s the sound of his name that gets him to turn around. Not his god given name (he had forsaken that a long time ago), nor the name he’s adopted now. It’s the name he was given by his counterparts, and only one person in this area could possibly know it.

“Crawly?” 

Crowley turns to look at him and he must radiate the kind of murderous energy a tempest does because the angel quickly corrects himself. He asks a very obvious question and Crowley snipes back at him in response. Crowley softens and attempts to make small talk in return for the sake of being polite. Aziraphale mentions a restaurant and oysters and Crowley muses aloud that he’s never tried one before.

“Well, let me tempt you-“

That’s about as far as Aziraphale can get before Crowley turns to give him his full attention. A wry smile creeps over his face and the angel flounders over what he’s said. Angels aren’t supposed to tempt, but then again Aziraphale isn’t like most angels. Crowley leaves Rome in a much better mood, although he doesn’t develop a fondness for seafood like the angel had hoped he would.

Then their meetings become far and few in between. They are so unmemorable that Crowley can’t recall where or when these instances take place. He might see a shock of white curls amongst a throng of people and Aziraphale always recognizes him no matter how much the demon has changed throughout the years. Sometimes all he gets from Aziraphale from times like these is a wave. But he always waves back. 

Crowley finds work as the Black Knight, fomenting hostility throughout West Essex in the year 537 A.D. The metal suit he trudges along in is uncomfortable but intimidating. Sometimes he likes to lift up the small hatch above his eyes so humans can recoil in fear and disgust when they see his snake-like eyes. Rumors of his golden eyes spread like wildfire and they terrify all men, even the ones who consider themselves the fiercest warriors. 

But it makes sense that the one he travels to meet in the cold, wet fog is Aziraphale. And that Aziraphale is doing everything in his power to spread good will amongst the humans. Crowley notes the irony in this, and hints at a possible arrangement. All Hell ever cared about was making sure demonic deeds were done, and they rarely checked to see who had actually done them. They could easily perform a temptation or a blessing if that meant it would be less work for the other. But Aziraphale bristles at this, scoffs at the very idea of it. He’s too proud of his work. He turns on his heel and stomps off, his boots leaving muddy imprints in the damp earth. 

Shakespeare’s vision is coming apart at the seams in the Globe Theatre hundreds of years later. The actor playing Hamlet is stiff and methodical and he does nothing to bring the scenes to life. Nevertheless Aziraphale watches with genuine interest, popping grapes into his mouth as he watches the story progress. Crowley joins him at his side and they watch the play as they talk about their business. A flip of a trick coin forces the angel to travel to Scotland later on in the week and the play plods along. The playwright rubs at his temples and loudly laments at his failed work. Aziraphale looks at Crowley with big, hopeful eyes and the demon can read his mind like an open book. As he takes his leave he snaps his fingers, and soon the entire city is abuzz over the new dreary tragedy written by the one and only Shakespeare. 

Crowley keeps tabs on Aziraphale as time goes on. He tells himself it’s because the angel tends to get into trouble and that’s all he’ll tell himself. But in this particular instance, it works out. Because Aziraphale is dressed to the nines in a ridiculously gaudy outfit, awaiting execution in the dingy prison cells of the Bastille. He looks relieved at the sight of Crowley but hides behind an air of annoyance. It’s amusing how one second he’s lit up like a candle and the next he furrows his brow and sets his face in his usual fussy manner.

“Oh good lord.” The angel gripes. 

Crowley relaxes on the floor and asks him how he ended up locked away in the first place. Aziraphale starts prattling on about crepes and brioche bread and the demon can’t believe he’s risked his neck for a bite to eat. It’s endearing and just the type of thing he’s come to expect from him. It’s also just very, very lucky that Crowley’s found him because Aziraphale can’t currently perform miracles.

Except that when Crowley snaps his fingers and breaks off his rusty chains, Aziraphale changes his clothes the instant Crowley makes an offhanded comment about them. Crowley notices this and cocks his eyebrows, and Aziraphale defends himself by saying it was a rather small miracle. He pretends to believe him. Crowley gives the angel a half smile and then sets off with him to find a quiet spot to have lunch. 

Their next encounter does not go well. It’s horrid, it’s confusing and tense and they both leave St. James Park, a beloved meeting spot that’s been a symbol of their friendship, frustrated beyond relief. Crowley tries asking Aziraphale for holy water and the angel reacts so strongly to the very idea that there’s no possible way to even discuss it. Crowley knows that his friend thinks that he’s going to use it to take his life if his back is against the wall, but how the angel could truly believe he would ever choose to leave him behind is beyond him. It’s for insurance. It’s for the other hellions that might seek to hurt them. It’s for their protection. 

So they can continue to be what they are. Maybe even more. 

His note goes up in flames and he’s left in a foul mood. Crowley goes home and slithers into bed, and he doesn’t wake up from his sleep for nearly 80 years.

It’s now the 40’s and Crowley likes his tailored suit and matching hat. It’d be a grand time to be alive if the humans weren’t hell bent on murdering each other. He’s tracked Aziraphale to a church and there are several things that are bothering him about this scenario. It’s night time and he could very well be at home in his silk pajamas. Aziraphale has somehow gotten mixed up with Nazis and it’s only a matter of minutes now before he could get hurt. And the blasted idiot is stuck inside a house of worship.

This is going to hurt.

Aziraphale turns at the sound of the wooden doors opening and the sound of footsteps, which are followed by hisses of pain. Crowley’s silhouette becomes clearer as he makes his way into view, hopping and jumping back and forth on his feet. Aziraphale makes a possible connection between the demon and the treacherous people that stand by the altar but even Crowley wouldn’t mingle with the likes of them. It’s something Aziraphale picked up a long time ago but doesn’t admit to himself.

Crowley isn’t evil. 

He hears the name Anthony and it’s strange to him. The demon looks at him for a reaction and all he can say is “I’ll get used to it.” He already has. It’s part of him.

Crowley directs a bomb to fall onto the old church and everything is obliterated except the two of them. They stand before each other, not phased by any of the debris that falls around them. Aziraphale expresses his gratitude to Crowley before a terrible realization washes over him. 

“The books!”

The books he had brought for the Nazis as part of his sting operation were now lost in the rubble. Torn to bits, utterly destroyed. He feels his heart drop to his stomach and his whole world is spinning and-

And then he’s handed a briefcase, filled with everything he was so scared of losing. Crowley had saved them. Crowley knew how important they were to him and he made sure they were safe. Before he can even say thank you, the demon pushes past him and starts making his way towards the car. “Lift home?” He calls to Aziraphale over his shoulder.

Aziraphale is rooted to the spot for a few moments. He’s completely stunned and soon a second, more powerful realization washes over him. He’s not ready for it.

He’s not ready for the idea that Crowley loves him back.

26 years later and Aziraphale is dismayed to find out Crowley hasn’t dropped the whole business over the holy water. He’s so determined to secure some for himself that he’s planning some elaborate robbery, complete with hired help and a time and place to commit the break in. It’s not hard to find the demon; he’s chosen a very seedy part in Soho to conduct his business. Aziraphale waits until his meeting is over before he joins him the Bentley. 

Aziraphale begs him to call off the heist and he hands him a plain looking plaid thermos. Except what’s inside could kill him instantly with no chance of him ever returning. It would evaporate him to his very core and Aziraphale would be condemned to a lonely, loveless fate. It’s the most nerve-wracking decision the angel has ever made, topping the one he made those many many many years ago in Eden. 

Crowley can see how painful it is for Aziraphale to give him the holy water. He still doesn’t understand why he’s asked for it and Crowley doesn’t tell him because Aziraphale starts talking about their possible future. A picnic, or a dinner at the Ritz. It’s almost as if he’s trying to give him reasons to stay. 

Crowley has never wanted to live more.

He offers him a ride. Anywhere. He doesn’t want this moment to end. This fragile intimacy that hangs suspended in the air. But Azirpahale utters truly devastating words: “You go too fast for me Crowley.” And when he closes the door shut, everything is broken.

Crowley doesn’t drive away for a long time.

Decades later Crowley is handed a basket containing the Anti-Christ and he knows what this signifies. As a demon he should be proud of the honor of delivering the child and setting Hell’s diabolical plan in motion. He should be thrilled at the opportunity to wreak havoc among the living and prepare the world for his new master, The Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Prince of this World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan and Lord of Darkness. Crowley should be training with his brothers in arms for the moment Hell releases their legions of demon soldiers against the armies of Heaven in what would be a glorious and gruesome battle. But he’s not like the other demons. Deep down he’s still an artist who will never stop looking up at the stars, and he has his own moral compass that does not align with either side. And he’s rather fond of the Earth that they’ve chosen as their warfront, and the people and animals that inhabit it, and all the wonderful earthly pleasures that he’s found throughout the years like his car and his wines. And the scatterbrained angel that always has his nose in a paperback that would be taken from him, no matter what side won.

It takes convincing for the angel to understand why it would be a terrible for thing for Armageddon to start. Crowley brings up music, books, and all the little places the angel loves to eat, but it’s the thought of all living things scrambling to make sense of the boiling seas and blood red skies before their demise that truly opens his eyes. Aziraphale has always cared for God’s creations and it’s the thought of them in any kind of distress that opens up the possibility of working together. Crowley dreams up a very detailed long term plan that involves them taking on a roles in the child’s life, canceling out the good and evil that stir within him until he reaches the prophetic age of 11. A demonic nanny and an angelic gardener would leave lasting impressions on the young Anti-Christ, rendering him normal. Aziraphale agrees and the two spend the next few years caring for him as if he was their godson. The years tick by and the child, called Warlock, grows taller and says more words. He eventually outgrows childcare and the gardener quits the same day as his nanny. But he will always remember his nanny’s frightful lullabies and his gardener’s confusing talk of snails and slugs. And he turns out, to their relief, to be a very normal child.

Except he’s not the Anti-Christ.

And this revelation begins a chain of events that bring the angel and demon closer together as the countdown to Armageddon begins. They team up to find the right boy and this involves many high speed car rides and bickering. A few spots of lunch and meetings in the park. A stained coat that’s miraculously fixed by a soft puff of air. Consorting with questionable humans and hitting witches with their car. Adventurous kids on their bikes and four supernatural entities who ride at the first murmurings of the end times. Fighting and tearing each other apart under grey skies on an abandoned band stand. Quick, jumbled apologies and fruitless attempts to be convinced to run away together. Corrupted angels and hell-bent demons. And a horrible, heart-wrenching moment where Crowley fears the worst. The moment he comes to plead with Aziraphale one last time and his angel’s beloved bookshop is on fire, and there’s no sign of him anywhere. He screams as he’s surrounded by the heat from the flames, and suddenly there’s no reason to for the Earth to be saved. 

When Crowley sees Aziraphale again in the bar, it’s as if he’s born again. There’s a reason to live again. There’s a chance to salvage what had been lost and Crowley scrambles to read the notes Aziraphale had left for him. 

“Wherever you are I’ll come to you.” Crowley tells him, and he means it. 

Then everything comes to a head at the air base in Tadfield. The four horsemen are bested by four strong willed children and a very incapable computer engineer successfully averts nuclear fallout around the world. Adam, the true son of Satan, stands up to his father and alters reality so that Mr. Young, the man who raised him from birth, is also his rightful parent. Beezlebub and Gabriel are livid that they are cheated out of what was promised to them and they swear revenge on Crowley and Aziraphale, who smile politely at them in return. 

It’s after all of this and after surviving being sentenced to death by vengeful archangels and lords of Hell that Crowley and Aziraphale are given the chance to breathe. They’re seated at their favorite bench in St. James Park discussing all of the variables, all of the things that had to go perfectly and wonderfully wrong for them to be where they are now. Finally, there’s nothing that stands in their way. No overbearing bosses, no duties or obligations to attend to. No threat of retaliation for “fraternizing”, as both sides liked to call it. They have been given an opportunity to take things further, to let whatever has grown between them for centuries fully develop. Neither of them choose to discuss it now, but’s it’s enough for them to know that they could. Crowley offers Aziraphale a meal and the two walk off together, indistinguishable from the many other sets of lovers holding hands in the park, except for Aziraphale’s prim and proper white clothes and Crowley’s thick rimmed sunglasses. 

Their story begins with a garden and it ends with a garden. Crowley remembers the angel talking about the Ritz near Berkeley Square and that’s where they’re currently sitting, waiting for their server to come take their order. Aziraphale’s hand touches Crowley’s arm as he talks and it’s enough to snap the demon out of his thoughts momentarily before he goes back to thinking. Reflecting back on all the time he has spent on this earth and realizing no matter where he went or what he did, he always came back to Aziraphale. And he always would. He lifts his glass and proposes a toast. 

“To the world.” Crowley says, with an air that also says, “Our world.” 

Aziraphale is beaming. Their glasses clink and the angel lets out a contented sigh. “To the world.”

“But I love your feet  
Only because they walked  
Upon the earth and upon  
The wind and upon the waters,  
Until they found me.”

“Your Feet” ~ Pablo Neruda

**Author's Note:**

> I’m currently working on my fic Cold Cold Man but needed a little breather and wanted to write something new to clear my head. God do I love my boys. 
> 
> I also really, really love Pablo Neruda and how he wrote about love. 
> 
> (Bit of a disclaimer here as well, I’m very new here and I’m strictly on mobile! If you notice an error I’ll gladly correct it!)


End file.
